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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28276464">it's a wonderful life</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugheadjones/pseuds/jugheadjones'>jugheadjones</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Riverdale (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Christmas, Depression, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It's a Wonderful Life (1946) References, Other, Time Travel, parentdale, teen riverparents</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:13:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,443</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28276464</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugheadjones/pseuds/jugheadjones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You don’t really exist, Fred.” Hal was still standing at his elbow. </p><p>“I’m a ghost?” </p><p>“Sort of. Not really. You got your wish.” Hal straightened the collar of his coat. “You were never born.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fred Andrews &amp; FP Jones II, Fred Andrews &amp; Hal Cooper</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Home for the HoliDale</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewareoftrips/gifts">bewareoftrips</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>im just clownin haha</p><p>merry christmas kim!! i just wanted u to have something new to read u don't gotta comment. i luv u.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Fred hung over the railing of the bridge and stared into the churning water. Other parts of Sweetwater had already frozen, but here the water rushed so dangerously over a section of jutting stones that ice hadn’t had a chance to form that winter. Snow was falling thick and fast from the sky. From this distance, safe on the bridge, it didn’t look as cold as it was. Fred didn’t feel cold at all, really. He thought about dropping over the railing and disappearing into the dark water, and the image passed through his mind with a little shiver of desire. It’d be nice to disappear right now. The thought of waking up tomorrow morning was already weighing heavily on his mind. Then there was the next day, and the day after, and the whole rest of his life to contend with, and he’d rather not, really. Not this year. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was their first Christmas without Oscar, and his parents were taking it about as well as could be expected - if that meant crying and fighting all the time and avoiding the topic of the big bleeding hole in their lives and the grief that made celebrating Christmas feel like burning alive. Not that Fred’s life was all roses already. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>First there had been the end of the school term. Mary and Hermione were mad because he’d asked both of them to the end-of-term dance. Then Hiram had scooped up the gift he’d been saving to buy Hermione for Christmas and win her everlasting love. Like that was ever going to happen. Hermione had dropped him like a hot potato over that. Then he and FP were having a fight because apparently, he cared about impressing Hermione too much. And Fred was pissed at FP right back because he’d taken the fall for FP’s stupid prank in the biology lab that had got him suspended from the spring baseball team tryouts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was FP’s fault, but Fred was no snitch. Hiram had no such qualms, though, and had snitched on both of them. Leading to another enormous fight with Artie where he got cussed out for not being as perfect as his dead brother. That was rough, but it was small potatoes compared to the rest. Notably, the eight-hundred dollars he currently owed the school. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eight hundred dollars he’d stolen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, borrowed. Borrowed from the cheerleading squad’s fundraiser to save money for the spring prom. Fred was the treasurer in charge of the money, which had sounded like a great idea at the time. He’d kept it in a lockbox under his bed. He’d been tempted a couple times when he’d thought about buying Hermione that bracelet - but he never would have actually opened the box. That is, until he’d realized the family at his mom’s church who had nothing needed an eight hundred dollar deposit to get an apartment for the holiday season. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was supposed to be a loan they’d pay back. Only things had kept going wrong, one after another, and because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>the perfect Andrews son, the one who probably could have figured this out or at least had the brains not to fuck up in the first place - he’d been caught without the money. There was nothing he could say in his defence. It was stealing, even if you did it for the right reasons. That had led to everyone who hadn’t already hated his guts turning against him, and Weatherbee had suspended him from school altogether - he was on probation until vacation was over. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>had led to a huge screaming match with his dad, who had finally come pretty damn close to admitting he wished Fred had been the one who had died instead. Okay, he hadn’t said it in so many words, but Fred could read between the lines. And yeah, maybe he thought his dad was right about that. He’d already ruined so many people’s Christmases, irredeemably, that he had a pretty good argument for how much everything would improve when he was dead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he was dead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was leaning forward, attention focused on the loud roar of the river, when he saw the dark figure slip into it from the bank below. They had dashed out of the grove of trees and thrown themselves into the dark water. Fred gripped the rail, searching the icy water frantically for a head or body, and finally saw the person break the surface in the centre of the river. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“HELP!”’ It was a voice he recognized. In the light from the streetlamps above the bridge railing, he could just see down into the water. The person was flailing frantically, water cresting over their head from where it rushed over the jagged rocks. When their head broke the surface again he finally recognized Hal Cooper - who had apparently forgotten how to swim. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred didn’t hesitate. He tore his coat off and threw it off the side of the bridge, aiming for the bank below. Then he swung himself over the high railing and dove into the frigid water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was cold, the kind of cold he’d only felt once before in his life, the last time he’d been in water like this. But it was shallow, easy to navigate save for the rushing current that swept them mercilessly towards the bridge pilings. He hooked an arm around Hal’s back and towed him to shore, choking on icy mouthfuls of river water and breaking through the thin ice at the edge of the banks with his hand. Hal was the perfect drowning victim: he lay peacefully in Fred’s grip without struggling. Fred expected to have to do CPR when he dragged him up on the bank, but Hal’s eyes were open and he was breathing fine. He was even smiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred could feel the cold in his face and extremities, but adrenaline was fuelling his body, his heart beating so hard and fast that he hardly noticed the ice forming on his eyelashes and hair. Fred slapped Hal in the face. “Are you drunk!?” He grabbed his coat off the bank and wrapped his friend in it, noting as he did the odd costume he was wearing. “What the hell did you jump in the river for? And why are you wearing that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was saving your life.” Hal held the coat out to Fred. He was still smiling. “Take this. You need it more than me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No you don’t.” Fred bundled it back around his friend’s shoulders. “That’s pneumonia talking. Come on.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a wooden shack a little ways down the banks used by kids when they were skating. A stove prepped with wood and crumpled reams of newspaper sat in one corner. Fred fumbled for a box of matches and lit the fire, making a mental note to build up the wood and newspaper for the next person. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me look at you.” He crouched before Hal, reaching out to hold his wrists. When he touched the cuffs of Hal’s old-fashioned white shirt he jerked back in surprise. Hal’s clothes and skin were bone dry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at you,” said Hal softly. The light from the fire played across his familiar features. “I knew I did the right thing. You couldn’t stop yourself from being a hero if you tried.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your clothes are dry!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess it’s a hot fire.” Hal turned to look at the stove. They were in a small shack about five feet square, empty except for two wooden benches and a small heap of bricks. In the winter kids warmed the bricks by the fire to put their feet on after skating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on?” Fred rubbed his face with his hands. He was cold and wet, at least. His teeth were chattering. “Am I dreaming? Why’d you jump in?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I saved your life.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you mean</span>
  <em>
    <span> I </span>
  </em>
  <span>was saving </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>life, buddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hal shook his head solemnly. “I know what you were thinking about.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what?” Fred knew his voice was coming out defensive. “There’s no law against thinking, is there? I wouldn’t have done it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A minute ago you weren’t so sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well you chose a pretty extreme way to talk me down. You couldn’t have just said hello?” Fred plucked absently at the front of his shirt. It was suddenly dry too. His chattering teeth had calmed. “I must be dreaming.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re worth it. You’re a good person, Fred.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m not. I’m a thief, and a cheat, and a jerk, and I’m probably getting suspended. And I don’t even care. Why are you being so nice to me anyway? I suck.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Part of the job description.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What job?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m your guardian angel.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred shook his head. The fire crackled merrily in the stove. “Hal, you’re not an angel, I’ve known you since you were four.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have a little faith, Fred, okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Left it at home,” Fred said sullenly. If this was a dream, why did he feel so tired? He slumped onto the bench and propped his chin on his hands. He couldn’t remember a worse Christmas. Might as well spend it in this shack as anywhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t wish you were dead, Freddie.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess not. I wish I’d never been born.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t mean that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I really do. It’d be better for everyone.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “I’ve been wishing it all night. I wish I never even existed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a good kid, Fred. You always try to do the right thing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t know that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know everything about you. I’m your guardian angel.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re my friend, Hal. You can’t be anyone’s guardian angel. If you were dead, maybe. But you’re not even dead.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, and you make the angel rules do you? You’re the head angel? You know how it works in heaven? Geez, they said you’d be stubborn, but-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred gaped at him. “I think we need to go to the hospital.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you humour me first. Come on.” He stretched out a hand to Fred, who regarded it dubiously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come where?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to prove to you that I’m an angel.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Prove how?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“By granting your wish.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to make eight hundred dollars appear out of nowhere? Good luck.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Hal admitted, and something changed in his smile. He looked suddenly sad. “I’m going to grant the wish you just made.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the fight went out of Fred. His shoulders slumped and he leaned back against the wall of the shed. A lump grew in his throat, and he tried valiantly to swallow it. He placed his hand gently in Hal’s, squeezing tightly. It felt good to hold someone’s hand again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he said and forced a meaningless smile. “Whatever you want.” </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>They walked together out of the woods and away from the rushing river. Fred cast several perplexed glances at Hal’s feet - he was wearing what looked like a ruffled pair of pyjamas under his old-fashioned wool jacket, and he had white embroidered slippers on his feet. It reminded Fred of the costumes they’d worn in elementary school when they’d done a play version of A Christmas Carol. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you wearing that?” he asked as they climbed up out of the bushes and scaled a small hill back towards the town. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you be more comfortable if I changed?” Hal asked honestly. “I can. I thought about wearing clothes you’d recognize, but I wanted to be comfy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Comfy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. But fine, here.” Hal paused suddenly and closed his eyes, a wrinkle of concentration appearing in his brow. Fred glanced worriedly away into the snow-covered trees and started when he turned back. Hal was suddenly dressed in a pair of neat chinos and a blue sweater under his jacket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you-!” Fred switched his gaze to Hal’s feet. They were currently planted in a sensible pair of black boots. “Well, at least you won’t catch your death of cold. Forget it. I must be going crazy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They emerged at the clearing known as Miller’s Point, where teens from the nearby high schools liked to go parking. Hiram’s car was idling in the clearing, his and Hermione’s silhouettes visible through the lit windows. Fred’s shoulders sagged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great. Well, at least they’re happy together.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are they, Fred?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred looked closer. He could see directly into the front seat of the luxury car. Sure enough, Hiram was frowning, and there were tense lines around Hermione’s eyes. Neither of them seemed to be enjoying themselves as they stared out into the snow. He watched as Hiram slid his hand around Hermione’s waist, only for her to shove him off and slap him when his fingers slipped under her skirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking tease,” Hiram spat, slinking to the other side of the car. Hermione whirled around, silver earrings clanking against her permed hair, and shot him the finger. Fred stepped up to the car, his face hot with anger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, don’t talk to her like that!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They can’t hear you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean, they can’t hear me?” Fred moved to knock against the window. “I’ll clean his clock if he thinks-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred suddenly drew back his hand and screamed. His arm had slid through the glass of the car window as nonchalantly as if it were air. For a moment he saw his hand fall invisibly through the hard side of the car door, disconnected at the wrist by the hump of the car door. He yanked his hand back and cradled it against his chest. There was no pain - in fact, there was no feeling at all. It felt as though he’d simply been waving his hand through air. Hermione and Hiram went on arguing, undisturbed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t really exist, Fred.” Hal was still standing at his elbow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred tentatively touched the side of the car. His finger slipped effortlessly into the black finish. But the car was real - he could hear the purr of the engine and smell the exhaust. He could </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>it under his hand - but if he pushed his hand simply ceased to exist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a ghost?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sort of. Not really. You got your wish.” Hal straightened the collar of his coat. “You were never born.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is a sick prank to play on a guy when he’s down, Hal.” Fred shook his head. “Come on. I have to get you back to your mom. It’s Christmas Eve, she’s probably looking for you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked together down the path to the street. Fred turned in a circle when they reached the place he’d left his car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s my car?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your car? All over the place. Most of it’s in a junkyard over in Greendale.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about?” Fred kicked the trunk of a tree. “It was right here!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have a car, Fred.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do so! Geez, you’re being a pain in the ass. Where’s Alice?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hard to drive without a driver’s license.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a-!” Fred’s hands patted his coat pockets uselessly. “Great. I lost my wallet. It’s probably at the bottom of the river by now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hal touched the crook of his arm. “It’d be faster if I took you, you know. We can fly. Well, I’ve only got my learner’s permit. I don’t have my wings yet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m getting worried about you. Did you hit your head in the water?” Fred pulled his coat tight around himself. Hal opened his mouth, but Fred interrupted him. “Yeah, flying, I heard you. Let’s just walk.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked silently. A cold fog had moved in, and the snow falling from the sky was so thick that it hid the world from view. Fred could barely see in front of his face. Despite his plunge into the river, he was still warm, as though the fog was a warm quilted blanket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s with this fog, Hal?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll clear. It’s not simple, re-writing history, you know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had reached the empty expanse of the drive-in. A tattered CLOSING FOR THE SEASON banner flapped from the boarded-up concession stand. The aisles where the cars sat were shrouded in the dense fog. Hal brushed some snow from the speakers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why can you touch things and I can’t?” Fred asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I exist,” Hal explained patiently. “I’m an angel. You on the other hand… you’re just a possibility. Not even that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s kind of mean.” Fred’s thoughts were still turned to his family. Any other year they’d all be at church right now, his mom getting misty eyed over</span>
  <em>
    <span> O Holy Night </span>
  </em>
  <span>and his dad’s arm behind his neck on the pew and Oscar pinching him during the boring parts. For a brief aching moment another wish rose in him, thick and choking. He turned suddenly to Hal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could you bring my brother back?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You grant wishes, don’t you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hal shook his head sadly. “Not that kind.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred pressed his lips together. He had a feeling he looked like a big kid pouting, and he didn’t care. “It’s awfully convenient you get to pick and choose with this angel thing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hal smiled sadly. “If I could I’d make it so angels could snack. I haven’t had a corn dog on a stick for like, a hundred years.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fog was beginning to recede. Fred looked left and right out at the barren world beyond the drive-in and felt his shoulders slump in defeat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I give up. Let’s just go.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked through the fog for a long time. Fred expected to see Christmas lights twinkling through the gloom - it was Christmas Eve, after all - but he couldn’t see much of anything. He knew they were entering the centre of town only when the ground changed to pavement under his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are we?” Fred squinted into the fog. He could hear the faint sounds of traffic, but it felt very far away. “I don’t know where anything is. I thought we were cutting through Pickens Park.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pickens Park got bulldozed years ago. The city voted to build a strip mall to take in more revenue.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This ugly thing?” Fred gaped at the neon sign that had emerged out of the foggy parking lot. They were standing about ten feet from a garish cement strip mall, boasting a gas station and a sad-looking dollar store. “They did not, Hal. We protested, remember? I was out here at five in the morning chaining myself to a tree.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No you weren’t,” Hal said simply. “You never existed to do that. You led all those protests. Without you, the council didn’t take anyone seriously.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re just teasing me. You took me the wrong way, that’s all. Come on.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred relaxed as the fog dissipated the closer they moved to town. Main Street was ablaze with lights, but many of the shopfronts looked bare. Fat flakes of December snow continued to fall, blanketing the ground at their feet. Fred kicked aside drifts of litter in disgust as they walked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on with all the garbage on the ground? Main Street is usually so beautiful.” He squinted into the storefronts, hoping to restore some of his vacant holiday cheer with the window displays, but they all seemed dim and insincere. He paused in the centre of the street, freezing before a modern-looking real estate agency. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened to the Bijou theatre?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hal paused next to him, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat. “The Historic Commission couldn’t get permission to designate it a historic space. They tore it down.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hal, my dad was on that commission. I made him vote to keep it. I worked at him for weeks.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hal smiled sadly. “No, you didn’t. Not in this universe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A creepy feeling suddenly sank down Fred’s spine. He looked frantically around Main Street, searching for something familiar to ground him, but everywhere he looked things seemed odd and out of place. It was like he’d climbed through a funhouse mirror and emerged in a world where everything was upside-down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hal-” Fred suddenly froze, relief soaring in his heart as he spotted someone familiar exiting a taxi cab on the far side of the road. “There he is! DAD! DAD!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred sprinted into the street, ignoring the traffic that whizzed by through the snow. For a heart-stopping second he thought he was going to be hit by a sedan with a Christmas tree strapped to the roof - but it zipped right through him without touching him. He whirled and dashed through the snow-covered street, sprinting towards the place the taxicab had left. His father was headed for a seedy-looking bar in a small street off Main. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Boy, you can run.” Hal appeared suddenly at his shoulder, planting his hands on his knees. </span>
  <span>“You ran track all those years. I forgot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“DAD!” Fred screamed. He tried to grab his father’s arm, but his hand passed right through. He waved his hands frantically. “DAD, IT’S ME! I’M HERE!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Artie walked into the bar without looking back. He was wearing a worn brown overcoat and a hat, his shoulders slumped in uncharacteristic tiredness. Fred watched through the lighted window as he took a seat at the bar, raising his hand to the bartender, who passed him a drink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad?” Fred asked, pressing his palms to the glass. He was breathing directly on the window, but the glass didn’t fog. If he pushed, his hand slid slightly into the cool surface of the glass. He raised one palm up experimentally and found no print was left behind. “I’m going in, Hal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Artie didn’t look up when Fred burst through the door of the bar. Neither did the bartender or the only other patrons, a sad looking pair of working men who were sitting at a table near the back door. There were no Christmas decorations in here - only the gleaming bar and a heap of coats on the coat rack. Fred stood so closely to his father that he could feel him breathing, but his father didn’t look at him at all. Artie was staring into his glass with the same haunted look on his face that Fred had come to recognize in the months since his brother’s death. But it wasn’t that that made Fred’s heart turn to ice in his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the empty space on his finger where his wedding band had been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Artie didn’t move or react while Fred screamed and begged for his attention. Finally, Fred backed away from the bar in defeat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going home. Don’t follow me, Hal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fog was gone, but the streets of Riverdale felt dingy and gray anyway. Cars honked and splashed one another through the snow, cardboard Santas leaning this way and that in the snowdrifts. Once he was out of the downtown core, Fred felt more and more hopeful the closer he got to home. The neighbourhoods looked the same as ever through the torrential snow, lights blinking cozily from the rooftops where they were nestled in drifts of white. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he got to Elm Street he opened up into a run, running straight to the end of the block before turning around in bewilderment. His house was nowhere to be seen. He ran back, counting numbers on the mailboxes facing the street, until he stopped in despair in front of his lawn. The house was there - but where he had expected to see lit windows and a glowing Christmas tree, the inside was dark. The yard was overgrown with weeds, and two boards from the fence were broken. And there was a red-and-white sign planted in the yard, the only new-looking thing on the property. FOR SALE. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Recognize it?” Fred jumped and whirled around. Hal was leaning against the fence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should have Christmas lights up.” The FOR SALE sign sagged back and forth under a covering of snow. “Where’s my family?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your parents don’t live there anymore,” Hal said sadly. “They haven’t for awhile. They haven’t been the same since Oscar died.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That hasn’t changed, then.” Fred jogged up to the porch and pressed his face against the window, flattening his hands against his forehead to see better. He jumped back as though burned. The living room was completely empty and desolate. An extension cord and a frayed old lampshade were the only inhabitants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s my family, Hal?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ran to the base of the large pine tree that he used to enter and exit his room via the window, and placed his foot experimentally on the bottom branch. When it held, he stepped up onto the next limb of the tree, climbing with disorienting ease. It was almost as though he were floating.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be careful!” Hal yelled up from the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred stood on the highest strong branch of the pine tree and stared into his room. From this height he had a perfect view of the attic. There was nothing there. No furniture. The walls were bare. It was as though he had never lived there at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He climbed back down the tree the way he had come, landing in a drift of snow. He was shivering when he got up to brush his knees off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t understand. My dad would never sell the house. It’s been in my family forever. He grew up here. He wanted it to be mine or Oscar’s one day.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He doesn’t have any kids.” Hal raised his shoulders in a shrug. “I guess he didn’t see the point.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hal, I’m getting really scared.” Fred held onto the fence, staring helplessly at his vacant house. “I don’t have anywhere to go home to. Do you know where my mom is? Is she okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s all right.” Hal hesitated. “I’ll take you to her, but I think we want to fly there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean fly?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hal held out his arm. “Hold on tight.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A breeze began to blow around them as Fred linked arms with his friend. He felt his hair lifting from his head. They stepped forwards together, and the wind picked up force, accelerating into a vortex. Then suddenly the ground below them had dropped away. The snow blurred into a streak of white hurtling towards them. The wind carried them up high over the town, the buildings and cars below shrinking to the size of toys. Fred screamed. He turned to look over his shoulder and saw only the sky of grey clouds, laden with snow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Relax!” Hal yelled over the wind. “You’re freaking me out!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly Fred’s feet hit the ground with a jolt. He grabbed Hal’s arm and realized in shock that he was standing upright. They were in front of a block of apartment buildings not far from the railroad tracks, facing a scrubby parking lot full of beater cars and weeds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty smooth landing if I say so myself,” Hal commented. “And I’m not supposed to be the athletic one.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred took two steps forward and studied the sign in front of the building. Snow was still blowing in his eyes, making it difficult to read. Hal nudged him towards the nearest brick building. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She can’t live here,” Fred pleaded as they walked up to the shabby four-story walkup on the edge of town. “It’s awful.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hal pointed at a window. “First floor apartment.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred approached the window slowly. He could see into the shabby apartment easily. There was a couch and a small ceramic Christmas tree on the coffee table, but it was turned off. There were no other decorations. His mother was staring at the TV. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s all alone.” Fred tapped on the window. “Mom! Mom!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mother’s head turned towards the window and for an instant his heart leapt - but she stared right through him. Finally she got up and pulled the blind down over the window. Fred let out a low whine and let his head hang down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hal, what do I do? My parents don’t recognize me.” He turned to his friend, his lip trembling. “It’s Christmas eve. Where do I go?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay with me. I want to show you something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to see it. Can’t you leave me alone? And don’t make me fly again, I’ll throw up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hal looked hopefully towards the railroad tracks. “Well, we’re near Pop’s. Do you want to stop for a burger?” </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>They plodded down the road towards the diner. Through his tears, Fred could see the smeary radiance of Pop’s neon sign ahead of them in the snow. They were walking along a path bordering a fenced-off vacant lot, through which a mound of snowy hill rose up through the trees. The hill ran down into a ravine above the semi-frozen river. Far away, silhouetted against the cloudy sky, small figures were speeding down the hill on sleds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Fred yelled, stepping up to the fence of the vacant lot. He turned to Hal, worry creasing his brow. “Those kids shouldn’t play there, it’s dangerous.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They don’t have a park. Can you blame them?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Fred waved his hands until the biggest kid looked over at him. “Be careful! The river isn’t frozen!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you, mister!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred drew back from the fence. “Who taught that kid that language?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kids need good role models. You took away the best.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t even know those kids!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hal lifted his shoulders. “Not in this life you don’t. But one person can change more than you think.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked into the glow of the neon sign. “This isn’t Pop’s,” Fred said warily. They were in the right place - but they were facing a squat brick building with a sloped brown roof and a neon sign shaped like a red-and-brown burger. A board out front proclaimed their specials: </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>TRY OUR BUD Y BUGER </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>FAST N CHEAP! </strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pop’s hasn’t been here for years,” Hal said softly. “He got bought out by a chain.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not true,” Fred argued fruitlessly. “They offered him money once, but he turned them down. He’d never sell it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was all you, Fred. You started a campaign to drum up more business, remember? You were always having ideas for Pop’s.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pop didn’t need me. When I worked for him I lost him a bunch of money, remember? I kept giving food away for free.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You made it up by drumming up business. Everyone came to see you on your shift, remember? You brought tons of people in. Geez, Hermione would spend a fortune just to flirt with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did this?” Fred asked weakly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. You didn’t do anything.” Hal gave him an odd smile. “Do you get it yet? I feel like I’m explaining myself over and over.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no bell over the door when they let themselves in. Cheerless holiday families sat at square plastic tables, picking at skinny french fries and pre-cooked burgers. The walls were painted orange and brown, matching the tiled floor. Fluorescent lights glared down harshly. Fred looked around warily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s the jukebox?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pop sold it to pay his bills when he ran into trouble.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred stared at the menu in horror. “This is horrible! Don’t people know anything about authentic small town charm? Doesn’t anyone respect a good burger and fries and pie anymore?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It smells good,” said Hal enviously. He grabbed a fry off an order a waitress was carrying. “Sorry. Heaven’s great, but it’s not known for its fast food.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Fred watched a teenager throw an empty burger wrapper towards the trash can. “Pick that up! Don’t you have any pride in your-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The teenager walked right through him on the way to the exit. Fred stared after him in dismay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The line was sparse, but it seemed like the people had been standing there for awhile. A family at the counter was counting out quarters to pay for their meals, and the cashier and a manager were watching the slow progress, unimpressed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They can have-” Fred began, and touched his pocket instinctively for his wallet. Hal silently shook his head. They watched the mother speaking embarrassedly to the cashier, who was punching buttons to change their order. The family walked back to their table, heads bowed. One of the kids was crying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred fell into a sticky orange booth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pop would have given them something.” He looked up at Hal. “I think I get it now. Will you put everything back right now? Please?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hal shook his head slowly. “It’s not that simple.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it’s Christmas eve.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not for you. I’m here to show you what life would be like if you never existed. And right now you don’t. You never have. Artie and Bunny Andrews only ever had one kid. Your brother, Oscar. I don’t know who I went to boy scouts with, but it wasn’t you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred stared miserably at his shoes on the tiled floor. “You won’t fix it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t fix it,” Hal corrected. “We’re just getting started, Fred. You have a lot more to see.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“It’s day,” Fred said dazedly. “Did we travel in time?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were standing at the main doors of Riverdale High School, looking down the hall towards the cafeteria. Bright sunlight shone in the windows behind them and through the doors at the other end. Despite the cheerful weather, the hallways were bare of posters or decor. The wrapping-paper wrapped box where the students had been collecting for the food bank was conspicuously absent, as was the Christmas tree where they had been selling ornaments for the children’s hospital. Fred peered into the display case that usually held decorations and saw only a few dead flies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You bet,” said Hal proudly. “It’s tricky you know. It’s not as simple as flying.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, good for you,” said Fred distractedly. He was approaching the trophy case, where a photo of the championship football team usually sat front and centre. But now it was shoved off to the side, and he couldn’t pick FP out among the faces. It must have been an old one, he decided nervously. “What day is it, Hal?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“December 18th. Last day before Christmas vacation.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred shuddered. "It’s so joyless. Why didn’t anyone decorate? Isn’t anyone celebrating?” He paused at the wire bin that usually held copies of the Blue and Gold, but it was empty. “What’s going on? Didn’t Alice get the paper out in time?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hal just shook his head wordlessly and pointed down the hall. Fred’s shoulders fell as he looked around the dismal, gray hallway. “Okay. Lead on.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They went into the cafeteria and gravitated towards the lunch line. Fred’s gaze swept the rows of tables. Students were sitting and eating and talking, but there was no sense of euphoria and camaraderie that the holidays usually brought. People were sitting largely alone or in packs of two, and there was no overflow between groups. It was as though they were keeping as much distance between different cliques as possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one’s in the Christmas spirit,” he remarked as Hal stepped invisibly through a bickering couple to look at the lunch menu. “I guess they know already I fucked up the spring prom for them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many times do I have to tell you, Fred? You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t exist in this world.” Hal patted his stomach. “Would you believe I’m actually coveting the taste of cafeteria hot dogs?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gross, Hal.” Fred scanned the tables behind him again. “Didn’t you say I was supposed to see something in here? Or were you just hungry? I swear, you have a one track mind.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am hungry,” Hal sighed, “but it doesn’t matter. She can’t see us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred glanced at the hairnetted woman behind the counter. She looked bored and unhappy as she took students’ money and made them change. An odd feeling lay over the whole cafeteria. Fred glanced up and down behind the counter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s Miss Beazley?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She quit,” Hal said simply, dipping his finger into a student’s jell-o as they walked past. “Remember when you found out she was unhappy with her job so you threw her a party so she would know how much everyone appreciated her?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah. I wasn’t around.” Fred sighed. “I still don’t think I made this much of a difference.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A boy suddenly walked directly through Fred’s stomach to get to the desserts, and Fred drew back from the counter with a shiver. His gaze travelled up to the pennants lining the cafeteria ceiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The baseball team hasn’t won in years.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not without you. Oh, and remember when you tutored Marcus Mason so he could keep his grades up and stay on the team? That never happened. He flunked out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, he was a dick anyway. And I’m suspended from tryouts this year, remember? I wouldn’t do them much good if I was around.” Fred walked slowly through the rows of tables, pausing when he passed the table nearest the door. Penelope Blossom was sitting alone, her head bowed and her shoulders drawn in. He’d never seen her look so uncomfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred stopped and sat down opposite her, trying to see her face. Her red hair was pulled back into a nondescript braid, which was coming loose at the edges and stuck out wildly from her head. She was reading a paperback and casting nervous looks around herself, as though waiting to be attacked. Her face was very pale, and her eyes were red as though from crying. No one approached her, but Fred could feel the waves of malice pulsating out from the other tables. There was a wide semi-circle of empty space around her that no one laid foot in. She was cutting her food into tiny bites and moving it slowly from her fork to her mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Penelope?” Fred asked. He tried to touch her tray, but his finger sank through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are a stubborn one,” Hal observed. “She can’t hear you, Fred.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why’s everyone being so mean to her?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She doesn’t fit in,” Hal said sagely. “She’s not the only one. Look.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat at Fred’s elbow and pointed down the row of tables towards the opposite corner of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s me,” said Hal wistfully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You? Why aren’t you sitting with Al-?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice died when he saw the table Hal was pointing at. An overweight boy was sitting alone, picking at a slice of lime green jell-o. He had a windbreaker buttoned up to his neck, and his blonde hair was dishevelled and overgrown. His mouth was turned down into a look of deep loneliness. Fred’s heart broke a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you sitting alone, Hal?” He reached out for the wrist of the Hal next to him and clutched it. It was ice-cold, but comforting. It was the only thing he could touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long have we known each other, Fred?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since we were four.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were my first friend,” Hal said simply. “I never learned to make friends without you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you’re such a great guy,” Fred answered slowly, confused. “You can make friends.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In your world. You taught me all the self-confidence I have. You and Alice. But she’s not like that, here. You’ll see.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred shook his head. “This is ridiculous. You’re trying to make me feel sorry for you for some reason, and it’s not working. You have lots of friends.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lots of your friends. You make it easy. You brought all these people together.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waved a hand at the students, who sat sullenly alone or in twos. No one was talking or yelling or laughing. The only indicator it was close to Christmas at all was the date on the whiteboard. No one moved from table to table or begged to squeeze in where there was no room. Even crowded as it was, the cafeteria felt empty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the glue that binds most of us, Fred. Haven’t you ever thought about that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t you be friends with Penelope? You’re both alone, you should sit together.” Fred stood up. “Go bring her her book and we’ll ask to sit with her-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hal beamed and patted his cheek. “Look. You’re doing it again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred shook him off and looked helplessly around. A security guard Fred hadn’t noticed before was stationed by the door, shooting the students unpleasant, militant looks. “Where’s FP, anyway? I don’t see him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watch this,” Hermione said suddenly to her friends. She was sitting at what was evidently the popular table - a crowd of sullen but well-dressed people with the same hairstyles. She stood up, carrying her tray aloft, and crossed the cafeteria towards where Penelope was huddled opposite Fred and Hal. Fred’s heart sank with every step she took towards her. Finally, Penelope looked up, and the expression of hope and fear that crossed her face landed like a lead fist in Fred’s gut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But Hermione’s not like this,” Fred protested. “She’s kind and sweet and-- innocent.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is she, Fred? Or do you just think the best of her and she tries to live up to it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Penelope, I love your hair,” Hermione said loudly. The volume in the cafeteria dropped. Kids were craning their heads to see better. Penelope touched her french braid, a blush spreading on her cheeks that was as red as her hair. Hermione beamed at her, turning up the saccharine charm. “It looks so nice with that sweater. Oh, oops.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lifted her tray high over Penelope’s head and tilted it. The bowl of tomato soup slid immediately over the side, dousing Penelope in bright orange liquid. The cafeteria erupted into laughter. Penelope leaped to her feet, and for a moment Fred thought she was going to jump on Hermione and start hitting her. He almost wanted her to. But then Penelope’s eyes clouded over and she burst into tears, running out of the room. Fred watched her go, his jaw hanging open. Hermione flounced back to her table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why’s everyone so mean?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a lot more bullying without you,” Hal said sadly as Hermione seated herself smugly back with her friends. “People learn by example. You’re everyone’s friend here. People saw they could be nice to one another and still be popular.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re giving me way too much credit.” Fred turned at another outburst. Hiram was shoving some freshman kids around by the trash cans. He glanced at the security guard, who didn’t blink or move. “What’s Hiram’s deal?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hiram’s bored. He’s bitter. He doesn’t have you around to challenge him. You don’t know it, but he looks up to you a lot. He tries to be a better person than you, at least. And as I’m proving, that’s not an easy job.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a good hype man, Hal, but I’m still not buying it. You can show me anything you want, right? So obviously you’d show me a Riverdale where everything sucks.” Fred’s brow furrowed when Hal twisted around in his seat, looking expectantly at the door. “Who are you looking at?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Hal’s voice dropped wistfully. “Here she comes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dumb bitch,” said Alice, and shoved Penelope as she rushed out of the room. She strode into the cafeteria through the double doors, passing the mess of soup, her leather Serpents jacket gleaming under the cafeteria lights. With it she wore an impossibly short skirt and fishnets. Hal smiled sadly. Fred called out to her, but she didn’t react. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get the fuck out of my way,” Alice snapped and shoved three freshman girls aside out of the lunch line. She rapped her knuckles on the counter. “What slop are you serving us today?” she barked at the lunch lady. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s just Alice,” said Fred, and shrugged. “Not that she usually wears her Serpents jacket to school.” He looked helplessly around the cafeteria, searching for more leather. “Where’s FP? Where’s Gladys?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gladys dropped out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dropped out?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Years ago. You were the only reason she stayed half as long as she did. It’s gonna take her a long time to catch up, if she ever does, but she’ll get by.” Hal shifted uncomfortably. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And FP?” Fred asked. He was suddenly afraid of the answer. His heart had turned to ice in his chest. He looked frantically around. “He’s here, isn’t he?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a sudden commotion over by the lunch line. Alice was fighting with some other girl, and the two of them had grabbed hearty fistfuls of each other's hair. The security guard crossed the floor nonchalantly towards them. This would have warranted several spectators and a cheering section in Fred’s old life, not to mention a hearty cheer of “fight! Fight! Fight!” - but the kids in this cafeteria were acting like it was an everyday occurrence. Alice got one hand free and punched the other girl hard in the nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A drill sergeant-looking man with a crew cut suddenly stormed into the cafeteria, flanked by two more security guards. “SMITH!” The man bellowed, his face turning red. “MY OFFICE!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck you!” Alice yelled. “Kiss my ass, cunt.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE, SMITH!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who the hell is that?” Fred asked warily. He’d never seen the man before, but the air of unmistakably militant authority made his skin crawl. He’d never seen a more joyless face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hal was unpeeling the lid from the yogurt cup Penelope had left behind. “He’s your principal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s Weatherbee?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He quit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Hal. That guy hated my guts. You can’t convince me he’d quit just because I didn’t exist.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you stay long in a school like this?” Hal licked the lid and shrugged. “He never told you, but you reminded him all the time of why he wanted this job in the first place. He never hated you. Not ever.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the security guards was holding back the girl Alice had been punching, and the other was trying to grab Alice herself by the wrist. She ducked under his arm and took off towards the exit. Hermione stuck out her foot, but Alice leaped nonchalantly over it. She grabbed a random senior by the hand, some tall guy in ripped jeans who looked like bad news, and sauntered over to the back doors, pumping her middle finger in the air as she moved. One of the security guards snapped out a pair of handcuffs, and Fred jumped to his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell are they doing! They can’t cuff her! Alice! ALICE!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tall boy she was with punched the security guard in the nose, and Alice pulled out of his grip and took off for the exit. Fred took chase, running after her to the end of the room. The boy wrenched his arm out of the man’s grip and took off in the same direction. The principal was screaming at them. The other students still didn’t look up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“ALICE!” Fred yelled, running after her. He waved his hands uselessly at the pair as they strode across the school lawn in the direction of the parking lot. “ALICE, YOU CAN DO BETTER THAN THAT GUY!!! ALICE!!!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was the roar of a motorbike, and then they were gone. Fred drew back from the glass doors, confused and upset. He looked back across the room towards the other version of Hal, who was sullenly picking at his raisin pudding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred walked slowly to the very back corner of the cafeteria. There was a girl sitting alone by the recycling bins, her face obscured by thick glasses and a shapeless haircut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mary?” Fred sank onto the floor next to her, drawing his knees up to his chest. “You wouldn’t let this happen, would you, Mary?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He passed a hand over her eyes, but Mary kept on chewing her sandwich. She had a math book open beside her, and her eyes were moving unhappily over the page. Fred looked up at Hal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mary doesn’t need me. She shouldn’t look so sad.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hal shrugged, sinking down the wall next to them. “She’s bored. She’s lonely. And it’s the same thing as Hiram. She doesn’t have anyone to challenge her. She’s just hoping to get out of here. They all are. No one wants to live in Riverdale.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one,” Hal replied. “Would you? Not to mention all the gay kids who feel a lot less safe without you blazing a trail for them. It’s kind of crazy, isn’t it? How much one person changes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mary?” Fred whispered. She didn’t react. “I’m sick of this, Hal. Just show me FP, and then we can go.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right. But he’s not here.” Hal reached out his hand, palm-up. “You have to hold on.” </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>When they landed the snow was coming down more powerfully. It was night again, and the moon was just dimly visible through the cloudy sky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t the trailer park,” Fred said. He looked around himself. “Why are we in the graveyard?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are some things you have to see.” Hal pointed at a tall headstone directly to the left of where they’d landed. “Like this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve seen it,” Fred said dully, but his mouth felt suddenly dry as cotton. He bent down before the headstone and felt hot tears spring into his eyes. The tombstone was in a little worse shape, but the inscription was the same as he remembered. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>BELOVED BROTHER, LOVING SON</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>OSCAR ANDREWS</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred wiped the tears messily from his eyes and squinted at the dates. They were wrong. He furrowed his brow, trying to do the mental math. Hal’s cold hand landed on his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oscar died when he was twelve in this world, Fred.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Fred shook his head wildly. “No, he didn’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The hill near Pop Tate’s,” Hal said slowly. “The river that wasn’t frozen. You two were sledding and he went through the ice. He panicked. He didn’t want his little brother to get hurt. You were only seven, but you saved him. You forgot about that, didn’t you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But he was fine. We got him out. There were other people there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got him out, Fred. You took charge. You knew to form a chain and you were the only one who ran fast enough to get your parents. And you didn’t hesitate. Like when you saw me from the bridge.” Hal’s cold thumb rubbed his shoulder. “You never hesitate.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is stupid,” Fred said pleadingly. He could taste salty tears rolling down his face. “I can’t have changed this much.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your parents have been without a kid for a long time. Your brother never had his first kiss. He never took you to the drive-in. He never got a driver’s license.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, fat lot of good his driver’s license did him! What is this! Choose your own adventure?! Choose how you want your brother to die?! I hate you!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you’d better look at this before you choose,” Hal said gently. He pointed at a white tombstone in the row behind Oscar’s. “I brought you to see this one too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred approached it. He was pointing at a small tombstone adorned with a lamb. He didn’t recognize the name, but the sparse five years between dates made his heart drop into his stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><strong>LOVED BEYOND MEASURE</strong>, said the inscription. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When you were a lifeguard. You saved a little girl, didn’t you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah but-” Fred’s heart was pounding. “Her mom dove in after me. She would have got her out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Her mom wasn’t a strong enough swimmer. You were.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred shook his head furiously, the gravesite blurring to a smear through his tears. There was a new basket of poinsettias resting against the stone, already covered in snow. Crimson petals showed through a few gaps in the blanket like rubies. A teddy bear, half-covered, already leaned up against the stone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve seen enough, Hal,” Fred choked. “I want to see FP.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One more.” Hal pointed at a tombstone a few rows away. Fred approached it with trepidation and leapt back with a cry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did I do to Manny Muggs?” He stared helplessly at the inscription. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>MANFORD MUGGS</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>OUR BELOVED SON</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>1975 - 1991</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were nice to him. He was feeling suicidal for weeks. You asked him to meet you at Pop’s with you and your friends for a milkshake. That was all it took.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred shook his head, tears burning his eyes. “He’s a good guy. He’s class president.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not in this universe.” Hal sighed. “There are a couple more. Your old neighbour, Mr. Murphy. Remember when you found out he’d fallen down the stairs on your paper route? You ran and got your dad just in time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop it, Hal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then there are all the people your mom and dad helped. In this world, they were too busy grieving your brother. But if I got into the ripple effect we’d be looking at headstones for hours.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone’s life affects a million other people. It’s like rings in a pond. You never being born affected Oscar, which affected your mom and dad, which affected other people. And some of them ended up here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hal, we have to help these people.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s nothing we can do for them anymore. You should have thought of that before you made your wish.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“HAL I’M NOT LEAVING THIS GRAVEYARD UNTIL YOU FIX THIS!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hal smiled at his outburst. “What did I say? Hero complex.” His face fell, becoming more serious. “You can’t help them, Fred. I can’t either. In another world you could have, but that’s gone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, so what. People die every day.” But Fred’s voice shook, and his eyes kept straying to the little girl’s headstone. He pointed weakly at it. “Please, Hal. Just her.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s nothing I can do,” Hal said solemnly. “I’m telling the truth, Fred. I promise.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred grabbed Hal’s hand. “Take me to FP now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hal just nodded off towards the back fence. “Far end.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A simple granite slab sat alone by a patch of weeds and broken glass. Fred approached it with mounting confusion and trepidation. Something in him made him pause before the snow-covered slab, his heart pounding hard. He fell on his knees and brushed the snow off the slab with his bare hand, shocked when he felt the coldness of it move under his palm rather than passing through. He slowly uncovered the name. </span>
</p><p>
  <strong>FORSYTHE JONES II</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“NO!” Fred screamed. He fell on his knees and scrabbled uselessly in the snow, grabbing whole handfuls of dirt from the ground and throwing them before the grave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“NO! PLEASE, HAL, NO!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry. But you have to see this so you can understan-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“PLEASE NO!” Fred beat his hands hysterically against the slab. “NO, NO, NO, YOU CAN’T!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bent his head into the dirt and started to sob. Hal crouched down next to him and placed a hand on his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was horrible what happened to him,” Hal said thoughtfully. “It was really horrible.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“NO!” Fred screamed. “You’re making it up! It’s not real!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hal brushed the snow from the slab of granite, unearthing the date of death. Fred let out a scream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“HE DIED THIS YEAR! YOU CAN TAKE ME BACK, WE CAN STOP IT!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t stop it, Fred.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“TAKE ME BACK! YOU CAN TIME TRAVEL! I HAVE TO SEE HIM, I WANT TO SEE HIM!” Fred buried his face in his hands and started to cry. “What happened… tell me…. We have to stop it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t stop it. You were never born, remember?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“STOP IT!” Fred screamed. He wanted badly to throw or smash something - but while the other gravesites they’d passed had been laden with flowers and offerings, FP’s was empty. He settled for pounding his fist against the stone, wanting to feel blood flow under his palm, but there was no impact or pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fred.” Hal’s cold grip was on him, holding his hands back. Fred bent forward so that his forehead was touching the grave marker and sobbed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t wish I was never born anymore,” he sobbed. “Is that enough? Please just tell me what to do to make it right.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s nothing you can do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then just let me see him again,” Fred begged. “Please let me see him. Please let me try.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hal sighed. “I have to warn you, Fred. He’s not the FP you’re expecting. He’s not the FP you think you know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care! I don’t care! Just take me to him!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, all right.” Hal reached out and squeezed his wrist. “You know I could never say no to you. Hold on.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>additional trigger warning for abuse, death and other various dark subjects (&amp; a slur against lgbt people merry Christmas)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They landed this time with a thump in the middle of a Riverdale High classroom. Fred spun around, orienting himself. The green chalkboards, the drawn blinds, the map of the world on the wall were all the same as he remembered. They were in a room in the first floor history wing. The date on the chalkboard was January of that year, almost twelve months ago, but the dull energy in the class was the same as what he’d seen in the cafeteria. The students were watching the teacher at the front of the room without expression, but Fred’s gaze was desperately scanning their faces. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he pleaded, eyes falling on the back row of desks. There was a single student sitting slouched alone at the back of the room. The desks on either side of him were conspicuously empty, the same way the seats around Penelope had been in the cafeteria. Even the teacher was ignoring him, not bothering to ask him to sit up or pay attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred approached him slowly. He was wearing a threadbare black hoodie that was in worse shape than anything he’d ever seen FP wear before. He was in ratty sweatpants and shoes with huge holes in the toes. Even in the oversized clothes, Fred could tell he was painfully thin. His wrists and hands were emaciated and fragile, one wrist blooming with a dark purple bruise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>FP raised his head from the desk, pushing the hood of the hoodie back, and Fred’s heart nearly shattered at the first sight of his face. His skin was ghostly white, and the edges of his jaw and cheekbones stood out harshly from his cheeks. His lip was split and bloody, and he was sporting two black eyes. His neck around the collar of his shirt was dotted with a ring of red welts, some fresh and some healing, that Fred identified as cigarette burns. His black hair was thin, lank and dirty, and another healing bruise coloured his jaw. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“FP!” Fred yelled. He waved his hands frantically. FP was chewing on one of the strings of his hoodie, opening a sore on the edge of his lip. He took out a cigarette and a battered lighter, flicking it twice before lighting it. A plume of smoke rose up to the classroom ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The teacher stopped writing on the board, his eyes sliding, unimpressed, to the back row of chairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jones, do you want another suspension?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like I give a shit.” His voice was low, gravelly with disuse. The tough, bleak expression in his eyes was unwavering. His hands were filthy on the cigarette, stained yellow with dirt grimed into the fingernails. Downy hair covered the backs of his hands and climbed up under his sleeves. The other kids in the class frowned as though they had smelled something bad when he spoke. They didn’t bother to look back at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“FP!” Fred fell on his knees and tried to hold his legs. He smelled like sweat and alcohol and something fresh and sour. There was no yellow-and-blue jacket over the back of his chair, the way FP proudly hung it back at home. “Hal! He’s on the football team, isn’t he?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not without you. He only tried out to keep you company.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s starving.” Fred stared helplessly at his friend as he and the teacher continued to scream at each other. “Please, look at him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who shared their lunches with him every day since kindergarten?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It can’t just be me.” Fred wiped tears from his cheeks. “He would shoplift if he was hungry. And Miss Beazley used to give him lunches when I wasn’t there. And Pop Tate-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He trailed off. Hal sat down on the edge of the desk next to FP’s sullen form. Fred shook his head furiously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s smart. He’s resourceful. He wouldn’t be starving like this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not just hungry, Fred. He doesn’t care. He has no reason to want to live.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred stared at him. He tried to grab FP’s hand and shake, but his hand passed straight through his pale skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“FP! FP! Look at me. I’m right here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were never born, Fred. He’s never had a friend. You were his first and only.” Hal paused. “He’s never been loved at all.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“FP!” Fred screamed. FP got up and stormed out of the classroom, cigarette still dangling from his bloody lip. The new principal was in the hall, talking with one of the security guards stationed by the door. He whirled around when FP emerged from the classroom, but once again seemed completely unsurprised to see what was going on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“JONES!” The principal bellowed. “You’re looking at a suspension!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He didn’t mean it!” Fred begged, stepping in between them. He raised his hands pleadingly to do damage control. “He’s just-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>FP stuck out a middle finger that went right through Fred’s back without feeling him. “Fuck you, grandpa.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stormed into the men’s bathroom across the hall. Fred plowed immediately after him, so quickly that he forgot to open the door. He passed directly through it.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marty Mantle was standing at the sink, picking at some acne on his chin. FP grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him ineffectively towards the hall, snarling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get the fuck OUT OF HERE FAGGOT!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred watched in horror as a glint of silver emerged from FP’s hoodie pocket. Marty opened his mouth like he was going to say something smart, but whatever it was vanished at the sight of that knife. He split. FP slammed the door and sat down on the sink, joylessly smoking his cigarette. The smoke detector above his head was shattered into ten pieces. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lighting was worse in here, making the bruises on his face stand out in deep relief. “FP,” Fred whispered. He tried to wrap his arms around FP’s back and bury his face in his shoulders, but he was too insubstantial to hold on. “FP, you’re not like this. It’s not real. I love you. I’m right here. I’m right here. I’ll fix it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew this would be hard for you.” Hal had materialized at the other end of the counter. “I’m sorry, Fred, you have to understand. You’ve never existed for him. You’re not part of this world. There’s nothing you can do to help.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>FP suddenly turned and drove his fist hard into the mirror. Shards of glass exploded down onto the counter, streaks of blood filling the cracks in the reflection. There were sharp slices of mirror embedded in his skin when he pulled his fist away. Fred reached helplessly for his mangled hand, but his hands passed through FP’s skin like a ghost. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>FP plucked the pieces of glass out of his hand and dropped them in the sink. He twisted around, his face set and emotionless, pulling down the back of his shirt collar to study the back of his neck in the mirror. Fred clapped both his hands helplessly over his mouth. The skin of FP’s back was torn and blistered badly. There were more cigarette burns, and the ridges of his spine stood out from his skin like sharp, jagged stones. A film of downy hair swept over the mangled skin. FP’s eyes were as cold as ice. There was no unhappiness or recognition in them at all. He lifted his cigarette back to his lips and kept smoking. Fred let out a piercing, pained scream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why doesn’t anyone DO ANYTHING!?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They don’t care,” Hal answered. “Everyone has their own stuff going on. You were the one who made time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred shook his head furiously. “I tried to help him. It didn’t work. I tried to tell people about his dad, but they didn’t care.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You changed more than you think. No one looks sideways at the bruises in this world. His dad’s stopped trying to hide it.” Hal looked at FP for a moment and then swiped a tear from his own eye. “But you’re right, Fred. You’re not responsible for every awful thing in the world.” Hal drew in a deep breath. “So please don’t blame yourself for what happens next.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>FP threw the cigarette into a toilet and stormed out. Fred made to follow him, but Hal stuck out his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s going to die tonight, Fred.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred stared at him without comprehending. “NO!” he screamed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen to me. His dad hears about his suspension.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“NO!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They have a fight. FP provokes him. He’s got nothing to lose.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“NO!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His dad is going to beat him very badly. Then he’s going to go out to the bar and leave him bleeding. No heat. No food or water. No medical help. No will to live. No one coming. He succumbs to his injuries around two in the morning. His dad left a cigarette burning. The curtains are going to catch.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“YOU’RE LYING!”<br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“He dies either from the smoke inhalation or from the internal bleeding. No one would think to check on him. The trailer burns down. His dad is charged with reckless endangerment and released on a technicality.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“NO!” Fred tore his arm out of Hal’s grip. Tears streamed wildly down his cheeks. “We still have time to stop it!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s nothing we can do. He can’t hear us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have to do something!” Fred ran for the door and burst out into the hall. It was empty. He looked frantically from left to right, searching for his friend’s familiar silhouette. He saw a slouched figure moving towards the exit below the stairs, and turned to run. Hal caught his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He doesn’t know who you are, Fred.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just let me be with him! Let me be with him!” Tears were spilling recklessly down Fred’s cheeks. “He can’t die alone. He can’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s too much for you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please just let me be with him. If that’s all you can do, then please just let me be with him.” Fred was sobbing. “One last wish. I learned my lesson. Please.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hal’s shoulders slumped. “All right, all right. I’ll take you to see him. Just for a minute.” He gripped the crook of Fred’s arm, and Fred gripped back, as tight as he could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Together they flew into the wind and snow. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>They landed hard on the banks of a snowy river. It was dim, but the moon was out. Gray clouds drifted across the cold winter sky. Sweetwater River rushed coldly below the light of the moon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When are we?” Fred asked, dazed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eight pm. He’s got about six hours left.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>FP was sitting huddled on the banks of the river. Fred crouched behind him and wrapped his arms around his back, trying to rest his head against FP’s shoulder. For a moment he thought he felt just the faintest solid touch of FP’s hoodie on his hairline. Then his arms slipped through and he was holding nothing. FP was real, but he wasn’t. He was barely there. Not even a memory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>FP was fumbling with something in his bag. In front of Fred’s horrified gaze he brought out a gun and held it facing him, in both hands. Then he aimed it bleakly off across the ice. His hand was shaking. The river was barely frozen: rushes of cold water burbled freely across the stones. A bird screamed somewhere far off in the trees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please listen to me,” Fred begged, but there was only silence. Fred opened his mouth to scream at FP, to plead with him to listen, but all that came out was a faint sob. His head hung down as he finally gave up. FP let out a pained scream and squeezed the trigger, firing a round of shots off across the ice. They echoed bleakly in the night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred fell helplessly down next to him in the cold snow and cried like his heart was breaking. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“Fred?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred jolted upright. The sound of rushing water from the river was louder. Hal and Alice were standing over him, their faces twin masks of dubious concern in the blustery snow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“FP!” he screamed. Fred scrambled to his feet, turning in a frantic circle. There was no one besides the banks of the river but him. “FP, WHERE IS HE?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They exchanged a look of alarm. “He’s probably at home. Fred,” Alice said carefully. “You know, where you’re supposed to be?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred froze and stared at both of them. His eyes swept over their figures for a long time. Then he dove into Alice’s arms and kissed her on the face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“ALICE!” he screamed, overcome with joy. “YOU’RE WEARING PASTELS!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ow, Jesus.” Alice plugged her ears and pushed him off. “Rub it in, why don’t you. Hal’s mom bought me this coat.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred turned to Hal and seized him by the cheeks, kissing his face enthusiastically. “Am I back, Hal? Did I make it? Thank you, Hal, thank you, thank you, thank you, I learned my lesson. I love you so much!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hal blushed awkwardly and sent Alice a confused look. “Um. Fred-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We came to get you and bring you home. Your mom’s looking for you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My mom?” Fred grabbed Alice’s cheeks again, making her yelp. “And my dad?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell is with you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to see FP!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t you just see him? I heard you fighting clean across the school.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I NEED TO SEE HIM!” Fred screamed at the top of his voice. He took off running away from the river, kicking up gusts of snow with his boots, tears still streaming down his face. “I LOVE YOU ALICE! I LOVE YOU HAL! TELL MY MOM I’LL BE HOME SOON! I’M GOING TO SEE FP!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ran through the boarded-up drive-in and down to the main road, giddy with happiness when his feet found the well worn trail by the Pickens Park fountain. The snow was falling so thickly that the glittering Christmas lights were only bright jewels buried under white. When he saw the Bijou theatre he jumped for joy, leaping up and down in the road while taxicabs swerved around him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I LOVE YOU WORLD!” Fred screamed at the top of his lungs. “I LOVE YOU BIJOU THEATRE! I LOVE YOU DRUGSTORE! I LOVE YOU BIG UGLY TREE!” He ran laughing through the street, rejoicing at every lit window. “MERRY CHRISTMAS!” He screamed at a family walking down the street. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Merry Christmas, Fred!” They yelled back, waving. Fred waved joyfully and ran faster. He was flying through the streets, snow sheeting in his eyes. When he got to the train tracks he froze in the hazy circle of neon glow, gasping for breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>POP’S CHOKLIT SHOP read the sign above his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“YES!” Fred cheered, pumping a fist in the air. He leaped up and down in the snow. "YES! YES! OH THANK GOD, YES!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ran into the diner. Pop Tate was behind the counter, dutifully flipping burgers with a Santa hat perched on his head. Fred ran across the gleaming floor, inhaling the familiar aroma of cooking beef and sugar, and leapt over the counter, sliding across the polished surface and landing on the far side. He threw his arms around Pop Tate and kissed him on the cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Merry Christmas, Pop!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get out from behind my counter,” Pop chastised him loudly, but he smiled when he touched his cheek. The joy of having someone see him and talk to him was so much that Fred thought his heart would burst. Pop gave him a hard push away from the grill. “Your friends were just in here looking for you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred scanned the booths quickly, but FP was nowhere in sight. For a second his heart pounded hard and painfully in uncertainty and fear. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please let him be safe,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he pleaded silently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, Pop!” he screamed. “I have to go!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ran deeper into the Southside, following the streets that led to the trailer park. Relief and love crashed over him like a wave when he saw the Jones’ trailer was still standing. There were no vehicles out front, and the porch light was on - their secret signal that Senior was out and all was safe - but he couldn’t be sure until he saw for himself. He pounded hard on the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“FP! FP! FP!” Fred screamed. Suddenly he was choking on tears again. “FP PLEASE OPEN UP!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door flew open. Fred’s breath froze in his lungs. FP stood there in jeans and a old sweater, his hair damp from a shower, looking more beautiful than Fred had ever seen him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is your dad home?” Fred gasped breathlessly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, he’s out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then close the door!” Fred yelled. “I have something to say to you!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>FP swung the door closed, and Fred leapt on him and kissed his mouth furiously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU, FP JONES, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!” He squeezed FP’s cheeks and kissed him all over. “I LOVE YOUR GRUMPY FACE I WANT TO KISS IT FOREVER!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fred-” FP pushed him off, but Fred saw just the flicker of an obliging smile creep up on one cheek. Something broke in Fred’s heart. He threw his arms around FP and sobbed wildly into his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fred?” He felt FP’s fingers combing worriedly. through his hair. “Are you okay? Did something happen?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred lifted his head and immediately kissed him again, wrapping his arms around his neck and planting kisses all over his face. “I LOVE YOU, FP JONES!” he shouted between kisses. “I LOVE YOU SO, SO MUCH. MORE THAN ANYONE ELSE!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>FP let him say it about a dozen times more. Then he grabbed Fred around the waist and kissed him back, hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what’s going on with you,” he began, smiling uncertainly, “But me too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred’s face crinkled up into a big beaming smile. “You can hate me if you want,” he gasped, kissing him messily on the forehead and bumping his nose against FP’s. “I don’t care! But I’m never going to stop loving you, forever!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cupped FP’s face in his hands and kissed him hard, feeling FP’s hands settle obligingly on his hips as he nudged him up against the door. Laughing against his mouth, FP grabbed two fistfuls of Fred’s shirt and lifted him up, pressing his back to the thin wood. Finally he set him down and stumbled back from their messy embrace, blushing beautifully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fred, why are you here?” FP scratched at the back of his hair, embarrassed. “I thought everyone was over at your house.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My house? Oh!” Fred suddenly jumped. “I have to go see my mom and dad. Come with me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you drive?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I ran.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In this snow?” FP peered out the window into the storm. Fred just laughed and grabbed him by the hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ran all the way to the Northside, FP protesting half-heartedly the whole time. Fred’s house was resplendent with light, which poured out of the windows and shone from the rooftops. Strings of colourful lights outlined the eaves and the tall tree in the front yard. A glowing wreath on the front door completed the picture. He froze for a moment on the driveway, his heart beating fast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m home,” he whispered to FP. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you are.” FP looked both bemused and concerned. “Where have you been, anyway?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Somewhere awful. Come on!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred threw open the front door and dashed into the kitchen, tugging FP along by the hand. The smell of baking and pine needles assaulted his senses as soon as he was through the front hall. He ran to his father, who rose from the table in surprise at Fred’s arrival, and grabbed him in a hug with tears flowing down his cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, dad! I love you so much! I’m sorry I yelled at you. I love you!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Artie tightened his hug until he nearly lifted Fred off his feet. He locked eyes with FP over his son’s shoulder, who only lifted his shoulders in bewilderment. Artie frowned and pressed his chin into Fred’s hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too,” he murmured. “Go on in the living room, your mother has something for you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred wriggled out of his dad’s embrace. “Where’s mom?! Mom! Mom!” He sprinted into the living room where the Andrews kept their Christmas tree, and froze in shock. The living room was packed with people. His mother was standing by the Christmas tree, fixing the star on top. But in between her and the doorway what looked like half their grade was standing around his living room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hal and Alice were holding hands by the door. Penelope and Clifford were sitting on the piano bench. Mary and Hermione were talking on the couch. Even Hiram was poking through a plate of his mom’s sugar cookies. And there were adults too, people he recognized from church or Elm Street barbecues, even faculty from the school or shopkeepers from town, and some people he didn’t know at all. Fred ran up to his mom, squeezing through bodies, and hugged her tightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on?” he asked, kissing her on the cheek. “I love you so much, Mom. Mary! Hermione!” He ran up to the couch and kissed them both on the cheek. “I love you both. Hiram, I love you, you old dog, come here.” He grabbed him in a hug and kissed him on both cheeks. “Who else?” He looked around wildly. “Marcus Mason, I even love you. Penelope!” He hugged her tightly and kissed her head. “Merry Christmas, Penelope. FP! Where did FP go?” He saw him standing by the doorway and pulled him into a backbreaking hug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fred,” said FP gently, and turned him around by the shoulders. His eye caught the banner hanging behind the sofa. Hermione and Mary, on the sofa, beamed below the red and green painted letters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>MERRY CHRISTMAS FRED! WE LOVE YOU! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred stared at it as tears spilled down his cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fred, we felt so stupid when we heard,” Hermione said, throwing her arms around him. Almost the whole cheerleading squad was with her, sitting around the coffee table with mugs of cocoa. “You did a beautiful thing. We should have known. We were so worried about you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not mad?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Of course we’re not mad. Who needs a stupid spring prom?” She rattled a Christmas gift bag at him, and Fred stared into it in shock. It was full to bursting with dollar bills. “We made back double already. And this is just from people in this room.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s all going to the youth shelter,” his mother spoke up. She put an arm over Fred's shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred looked hopefully at Mary. “You’re not mad at me, Mary?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mary shrugged. “I’ll get over it.” A teasing grin broke over her face, and she shoved his arm playfully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“FP?” Fred turned to him. “Do you forgive me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always will.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A cold gust of air suddenly interrupted the warmth of the room. Fred turned to see a new pack of people streaming in the door, including Pop Tate, who was brushing snow off his coat. He winked at Fred and opened his wallet, handing a stack of bills over to Hermione. All the newcomers were smiling at him, and the bag of money went around the group again. His mother took it and pressed it into his hands, and Fred’s heart swelled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you all,” he said, a lump in his throat. “I love this town so much.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We love you too, Fred,” Harry Clayton shouted from the back of the room. The rest of the baseball team was squeezed in the picture window, devouring a bag of chips. Alice reached across them for the stereo and turned it on full blast. His mother squeezed him tightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred stared at the window. The warm, glowing lights from the tree were reflected in the glass, casting a golden halo over the snow. He could see the smiling faces of his family and friends shimmering in the mirage. FP was leaning against the piano, but his eyes were fixed on Fred, glowing with light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” Fred said again, addressing the room but mouthing the words to FP in particular. “Merry Christmas, everyone. Let’s dance!” </span>
</p>
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